


Free of Charge

by FlightsofFancy32



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, an ode to the undercut in Witcher 3, more mish mash of book game and tv witcher worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightsofFancy32/pseuds/FlightsofFancy32
Summary: If it hadn’t been storming...if the farmer hadn’t needed quick rescuing from the swamp...well. That water hag would have never gotten close enough to touch Geralt.Alas.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 235





	Free of Charge

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

\---

“Sorry to say, my dear Geralt, that looks perfectly ghastly,” Jaskier says to his friend after the witcher has dried off from his bath. 

Geralt frowns down at his own arm dismissively. “They’re only scratches. I’ll survive.” Scratches from hag claws which may scar without proper ointment. Geralt retrieves the necessary vial from his pack. 

Jaskier tsks. “No, no. I’m not referring to your dashing wounds. Your hair, Geralt, your hair! Such a defining feature should not be left in this sorry state.” Jaskier gestures at the back of Geralt’s head with a flourish.

The witcher sits heavily upon a wooden chair, bare from the waist up, already smearing on the healing tincture. “Is it bleeding?”

Jaskier wheels around behind him to check and winces. “Not anymore. Gods, that must sting--”

Geralt interrupts sedately, “The hag did rip out a good handful by the roots. I can tell that much without the aid of a mirror.” He touches the sore patch of skin low on the back of his head, now conspicuously devoid of long colorless hair.

Undeterred by interruption (and indeed, often contrarily encouraged by it) Jaskier chatters on, “You ought to insist on additional payment for your services, so that you may have the barber see to you.”

“I’m not wasting coin on a barber, Jaskier.”

His friend gasps. “Wasting, is it? Only you...Geralt, you cannot be serious.” Jaskier observes Geralt shrug and set his traveling pack to rights. “Geralt, come now. Don’t leave it like this. Have you no pride in your image?”

“My image,” Geralt grimaces, “will be too poor for any barber to change anyway.”

“Oh, must you carry on so?” Jaskier teases as he pushes a hand firmly down on Geralt’s uninjured shoulder, as if to force him to sit. “My epic ballads have polished your poor image to a delectable shine. Let’s not give over to gloom and godsforsaken hags and let it all be for nothing.”

Geralt stares at the hand pressing his shoulder, then sits back down after a moment’s wry contemplation. “Stop fussing, will you. My hair will grow back. Free of charge, even.”

Jaskier shakes his head mournfully. “Fine, fine. But at least allow me to fix it up before you set foot out of this room again. I have my own grooming tools here, which I am happy to share with you--”

“You want to play at being a barber, ask one of the drunks downstairs.” Geralt says, quite prohibitively, though he doesn’t move away as Jaskier begins to prepare the side table with all manner of razors for trimming and shaving.

“Oh hush. ‘It will grow back anyroad and save me much coin’, and so on and so forth. Look, the truth of the matter is, as your friend, I can’t in good conscience nor in good taste allow you to walk around with shoulder length hair and a bald patch. I’ll just even it out, that’s all. Free of charge, too. There, now you have no excuse or argument.”

This is not true, but Geralt allows Jaskier to position him at whim anyway. Jaskier loosens the ponytail and begins to run his fingers through Geralt’s top layer of hair. This is unexpectedly soothing. Soon enough, Geralt feels himself drifting away as if entering into meditation. His muscles unwind and his breathing slows and evens. Eyes closing, he breathes in the familiar scent of Jaskier’s perfumed hands. Trusted hands, they move around his face gently, tying off the top section of his hair once more. Geralt then feels the cold press of metal shears against the back of his head but does not worry a bit. 

All in all, it feels oddly pleasant. Geralt allows himself to relax as Jaskier snips away, singing to himself in cheeky tenor.  


_“The slanderer’s lies won’t lead me astray...hmm--hmm--hmm...his false hate and the poisoned blade of his base envy…”_

Jaskier’s hands are gentle near the wounded scalp, patient and careful. 

_“Believe me, I will not avoid you because of this...dee--dee--dah--dee...you are completely flawless, the deceitful talk is garbage--”_

“Not one of yours, I hope,” Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier’s warm fingers brush Geralt’s ear. “Oh heavens be still! I daren’t take credit, even in jest with you. With our luck, I would be in hot water by midday tomorrow for it. No, Geralt, this is...hm. One of the classical ballads taught in Oxenfurt.”

Geralt grunts. “Fine. So long as it isn’t about me.”

“Not every song I sing is about you,” Jaskier chuckles. “I did have something of a repertoire before I met my muse.”

Geralt sinks deeper into his chair with an easy spine, warm and cozy from the hearth, while Jaskier finishes up. The bard hums wordlessly as he wipes down Geralt’s neck and shoulders with a damp cloth. 

“There now! All finished. Sit up, sit up.” 

Sleepily, Geralt straightens from his slumped position in the hard backed chair. 

Jaskier, coming round to face him head on, grins at his handiwork, looking as pleased as an actual barber by trade. “Now, that is a good image. I’ve outdone myself.”

If Geralt weren’t feeling so comfortable, he would surely be apprehensive. He can already tell Jaskier has taken some creative liberties with his hair. 

This is easily confirmed in the small mirror Jaskier hands to him. Geralt stares expressionlessly at the sight of his unchanged ponytail topping the shorn sides and back of his head. 

It is bizarre and impractical and utterly ridiculous as an alternative to a small bald spot. 

“Quit all that leaping for joy,” Jaskier laughs, “you’ll inflate my ego so much that I’ll be forced to retire from minstreldom and take up as a barber. My patrons will be set weeping from here to Kovir.”

“Weeping in joy.”

“Uncalled for!”

Geralt traces his fingertips over the odd combination of long hair on top, shorn hair on bottom.

Jaskier’s blue eyes flash as he unsuccessfully tries to smother a grin.

Dropping his arms to his sides, Geralt grits out, “Do you really hate me this much.”

Jaskier laughs. “Geralt.”

“What happens if I lose the ribbon?”

Jaskier pinks with suppressed mirth. “Oh dear...well, don’t. Hold onto it. Secure it tightly before battle.”

“Hmph.”

“I’ve seen this style before in my travels, I’ll have you know! Though no one else has worn it quite so well. Trust me, you look great.”

Geralt shakes his head, more fond than irritated.

“I know, I know. I know you too well, your thoughts are clear to me. In the world according to Geralt, it’s not a matter of looking great, it’s a matter of wasting time. You’re thinking you might as well have kept the bald spot, but in this conclusion, my friend, you are dreadfully mistaken.”

“A barber and a mind reader. Any other skills I should be wary of?”

“Ha! And here I was about to offer to accompany you north. You’ll need a good mind reading, poet-barber to keep you put together. Uh, truly. That particular haircut will require some upkeep.”

“I gathered,” Geralt says dryly, shrugging on his shirt. 

“So that’s a yes, then?”

“It’s a guarantee.” Smiling to himself, Geralt rings for more ale.

Jaskier observes him narrowly, hands on his hips. “I’m afraid I’ve lost that mind reading, Geralt. Whatever are you smiling about?”

Geralt’s smile widens into a grin. Jaskier now looks downright unnerved. 

“You know me to be good for my word,” Geralt says, almost cheerfully. 

“Of course.”

“You know me to always return a favor.”

“...yes?”

Geralt quirks a brow at his old friend. “I give you my word, Jaskier, that should your hair suffer damage on our journey north, _I_ will fix it for you.” Geralt barks a laugh at Jaskier’s suddenly pale face. “Free of charge.”

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier's song comes from the real world translated lyrics out of a 16th century German ballad called, My heart has made a pact with love. 
> 
> This was another little warm up. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
